Benson and Amaro: A Comedy in Three Acts
by daro-jesse
Summary: Benson wonders why Amaro is so serious all the time. Fluff ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**Act 1**

He was so serious sometimes.

Olivia looked across the desk at her partner. Amaro was tipped back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, eyes cast up toward the ceiling. Dark eyes, dark as melted chocolate. His hair was dark as well. It curled softly over his interlocked fingers.

He was serious right now. Almost in spite of herself, Olivia wondered what he was thinking about. His personal life? Things at home? Maybe. But, more than likely, a case, probably. Amaro was nothing if not dedicated, and God knew they had enough open cases to solve.

Olivia slapped her notebook closed suddenly. Amaro sat forward with a start.

"We need to eat," Olivia declared.

That handsome, boyish face registered surprise. "But it's only...damn." Amaro did a double-take as he glanced at his watch. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his collar unbuttoned, tie loose. He had to be exhausted - as was Olivia, who would have liked nothing better than to trade her sweater and slacks for a fuzzy robe and house slippers. She could not remember the last time she had taken a night off. "It's eleven-thirty. I haven't eaten since..."

Amaro trailed off, unable to recall his last meal. Olivia picked up her coat. "Exactly," she said, with all the wisdom of a senior detective. "Come on. I'm buying."


	2. Chapter 2

**Act 2**

They decided on Chinese.

Nick wasn't sure "they" decided on anything, to be honest. Benson usually decided, and he had learned to go along with her, on most things; she was the smartest detective - one of the smartest people - he had ever met. And, like all beautiful women, she wasn't easy to argue with. Still: "This is good," he admitted, picking up a dumpling with his chopsticks.

Benson smiled, as if to say of course it was good; she had been the one to suggest it. The dim lights of the all-night, all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet brought out the copper highlights in her chestnut hair, the fine wrinkles Nick found so intriguing around her eyes. "You have sweet-and-sour sauce on your chin, partner," she declared.

"Oops." Grinning, Nick took the napkin she offered and wiped away the sauce. Benson watched him do this. Feeling a little awkward, suddenly - Benson didn't give much away; he was never sure how she thought of him, as her partner, her kid brother, or a man - he cleared his throat. "So, how are you and Cassidy doing?" he asked.

Benson made a face. Ok, Nick thought. Not so good, then. "How about you and - ?"

"You know." Nick laid his chopsticks down. He wasn't hungry anymore, all of a sudden. He was hollow, stomach to spine, the way he always felt when he thought about his now-estranged wife and daughter. "I think it's over. I had a good thing, and I screwed it up."

"Nick." Benson's voice was soft. She didn't often call him Nick. "I'm sorry."

Nick shrugged, because really, what else was there to say? Olivia (he didn't often think of her as Olivia) stood up, suddenly. "Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here."


	3. Chapter 3

**Act 3**

The bench was at the edge of Washington Park. Olivia didn't know why she liked it. She just did.

Amaro sat beside her, hands in the pockets of his pea coat. It was just October - just cold enough for their breaths to mingle and hover in the air. His arm pressed against the length of hers. There was nothing untoward about the contact, yet Olivia was aware of it, as she always was.

"Did you want to talk about it?" she asked. _It _being the implosion of his marriage, obviously.

"Not really," Amaro said. He turned slightly, just enough to look at her. Under the street lamps (it was past midnight now) his eyes were very dark. "Did you want to talk, about Cassidy?"

"No," Olivia said, flatly. She was tired of making bad choices. Tired of having her heart broken. Tired of trusting untrustworthy men.

Tired of all the good ones being taken.

She felt more than saw Amaro glance at her, sidelong. He was perceptive, intuitive; it was one of the things she had come to like best about working with him. Suddenly, he grinned, and he didn't look serious anymore. He looked - _carefree, _Olivia thought, with a start. Carefree was not how she thought of Nick. Whom she usually - deliberately - thought of only as _Amaro. _

"Let's swing," he said.

Olivia laughed, more from surprise than anything. "What?"

"There's a swing set, right over there." Amaro pointed; he was already standing, perfectly serious. Or, rather, perfectly _not_ serious, for once. "I'll push you. It'll be fun. I can give you an underdog."

Olivia made her eyes very wide. "A _what_?" she said.

"You know. An underdog. Where you push someone really high, and you run under - but you already know that," Amaro realized, as Olivia burst out laughing, having managed to make him serious again, momentarily. Seriously explaining to her what an "underdog" was. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at her, head cocked to the side, one corner of that generous mouth quirked up. "You don't laugh enough, Detective," he declared.

"Funny," Olivia said. "I was thinking the same thing about you."


End file.
